FRANKENSTEIN

divinity of my love
is depicted, in receding
temperature of my body,
with the rising count
of your footsteps,
as they take you away.

the enamel coated kernel
of a machine called “you”,
may hide,
inside your steel-made ribcage,
and while it remains invisible,
i can tell: it is square,
unlike humans’,
with no curves,
or slopes of compassion.

i may survive,
the crunch in my epicenter,
as i’m experimenting,
to turn the ink of my pen
the liquid of my life,
as no currency can mend me,
though can buy me another pump.

it’s highly unpredictable:
i’ve been failing all my life,
i may fail to die as well,
if get fortunate,

but, will you
care to put white lilies,
occasionally,
on the lichen covered cenotaph,
of my heart,
that is now a neighbor,
of yours?

…you murderer!

Written for Wordle#31

Image by: Poison’s Kiss (Cassie)

dancing_on_the_grave_of_life_by_poisons_kiss-d6kgkve

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